


The Entire History Of You

by deanlicious



Series: An exploration of Hugh and Mudah [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 23:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanlicious/pseuds/deanlicious
Summary: A look into the origins of Hugh and Mudah's relationship - these are roleplay posts, hence the line breaks and why things may seem a little disjointed to read.





	1. Chapter 1

It's the last hour of 1997.

All in all, it's been an odd year of ups and downs. He's just turned 25, he's in his third year of law school, and he's found a great group of queer friends that he can really be himself with. But his father's not exactly about how out he's being, and he's still disgustingly single, and he hasn't been on a date since that one guy from the bar, which is pretty wack, actually.

But it's whatever, he's not going to stress out about it.

Mainly because he's pretty buzzed right now, and they've all just come from Greenwich Village so he's got glitter all over his cheeks, and stuck to his coat and scarf, and he doesn't give a _shit_. It's one of those nights where everyone is on the same high, and no-one cares that there's a group of queers living their best lives. He's so into singing ' _I'm Coming Out_ ' by Diana Ross, that he's not really looking where he's going, so he kind of turns and walks directly into someone, and-

Holy shit. It's the guy from the bar. The guy he went on a date with. It's like...Some kind of serendipity or something. His brain isn't working too great right now. It's a good job his career as a lawyer isn't based on how well he thinks when he's drunk.

"...Hey. It's you."

\- - - - - - - -

Miss Porter tells him to go home.

Tells is a nice way to put it. She escorts him outside to ensure he doesn't linger by, wishes him a Happy New Year, and closes the door behind him. A second later, he hears the lock click.

She _knows_ he doesn't have anything to do for the night. It's cold and it's dark and absolutely depressing, so it's cruel of her to look him in the eye and beg him to stop drinking her liquor and go out, hang out with friends and family. Mudah slings his bag over his shoulder, and decides that he's going back to Richie's, curl up on the couch, and sleep through the new year.

There's too many people on the streets. Most of them look happy. They yell, they prance, they laugh. Mudah watches them with averting eyes; if he looks at them any longer they're going to notice him, and he doesn't want that. (They're not going to notice _you_ , idiot.)

So he's doing his best to keep his head low, another shadow in the darkened streets, and he's sort of running because it's really cold and he forgot his scarf back at the bar, but it's too late to turn back. Suddenly, he slams into someone taller and stronger. It's-

Oh. It's him. "Hey," he croaks, because he's a little drunk too, and he -Hugh?- is covered in glitter, and this all feels so _surreal_. "Hey. Uh. Sorry. I'll..." Go? Shit. "How've you been?"

\- - - - - - - -

"Yeah, I'm..." Probably on a downward spiral from this point because I'm probably going to live my life in crippling debt from my student loans and my father's probably going to kick me out as soon as I graduate? "...Good." Of course, he doesn't say any of that. Damn drunk brain and its depressive tendencies. But that's what being a college student is all about, right?

"Hey, you look cold." He reaches up to unfurl his own scarf from around his neck, so that he can wrap Mudah up a little. He maybe smears a little glitter on his cheek in the process, but he doesn't do it on purpose. "So what're you doing tonight? It's only..." He pulls back the sleeve of his coat so that he can check the time, only to realise he's not wearing a watch, so that was pretty pointless. "Some time before midnight."

" _Hugh, c'mon_."

He glances back over his shoulder at his buddies, one of whom waves for him to hurry the fuck up, before he looks back at Mudah. Right then, he makes a decision, even if the guy looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here right now. He doesn't believe in fate, or anything like that, but it's kind of weird that he'd show up so randomly like this, especially when Hugh is feeling drunk and gay and sorry for himself. New York's a pretty big city, it's hard to just run into someone. "Hey, you wanna come with us? We're gonna go watch the ball drop and try not to freeze."

He hopes he joins them. Something about this feels kind of right, even though Mudah is well within his rights to turn him down and just carry on to wherever he was headed. Maybe he has a boyfriend he'll be seeing the new year in with.

Yeah, that would make sense. Just _look_ at him.

\- - - - - - - -

He's not great with people, but Mudah can absolutely tell when someone starts getting a little... sad. Takes one to know one, or something. There's something terribly funny about that, and his lips twitch into a tiny smile, which is weird because he doesn't just _smile_ at people. Porter always gives him a hard time about that. Part of the job and whatnot.

Amusement is quickly replaced by total surprise when Hugh gives him his scarf. Now he has glitter on his skin too, which he doesn't mind. It smells like him. And it yet contains his warmth, so the sudden clash of temperature sends a shiver down his spine. He tells himself it's that instead of... anything else, really.

He knows Hugh is chivalrous. He was like that on their date, so this doesn't mean anything.

"I-"

Fucking idiot. Absolute moron. Mudah wants to decline, politely of course, tell him he has plans– never mentioning that they consist of lighting a blunt and watching bad movies on TV. If they have any electricity, that is, because Richie is funny to be around but he's very irresponsible and it's very likely he hasn't paid their bills.

And Hugh's– well, he's always wondered what things would've been like if they had gone on another date. There's a reason why he slipped him his phone in the first place, right? He tries not to stare too much, but he looks... good. That, for his mind that is swimming in cheap beer, is good enough for him.

It feels like he's been thinking about this forever, when it's probably been only a few seconds of silence between them. He should leave. He should let him be happy with his friends.

Mudah shrugs, careful so that the scarf doesn't slip from his shoulders. "...Okay. You're _definitely_ going to freeze though. I'll- I'll give you your scarf back. In a bit. Just give me a moment.”

\- - - - - - - -

"It's fine, you keep it." He's not feeling the cold right now, too full of gin and good cheer to even be thinking about it, so he doesn't mind Mudah keeping his scarf for a little while. Maybe he'll take it back later, when the cold really hits, but then maybe not. It's not even something he's thinking about right now, just content to hand his scarf over to an almost stranger like it's not big deal.

Because, really, they _are_ almost strangers.

Sure, they may have been on a date, but those aren't really a basis to say that you know someone. It had been small talk, really. Getting to know each other without _really_ going too deep on who they are.

He knows Mudah works at a bar - but he knew that anyway, because that's where they met - and that he rooms with some guy named Richie. And that's about it. Not that he can remember much right now other than the lyrics with ' _It's Raining Men_ ' because he's a useless gay.

"We picked up another one!" He calls out as he heads back to his friends, because Mudah's not the first queer that they've attracted tonight. They all have at least one thing that defines them as being Not Straight. Hugh has the rainbow glitter, there's someone with a rainbow flag tied around their neck like a cape, someone else has black track pants on that have a rainbow stripe down the outside of each leg.

They're Here, they're Queer, get used to it.

"I'll warn you now," he says quietly to Mudah before they reach his friends. "Some of these guys are...Ultra gay. They're so flamboyant, they put Liberace to shame. But they're all really nice guys."

\- - - - - - - -

There’s this horrible, horrible realisation dawning upon him which gets harder to ignore the more they walk down the crowded streets. Among Hugh’s group, the little band of gay folks that are now dragging him alone to Times Square, Mudah is the only one who doesn’t quite fit in. Not in spirit, of course, but.

He's wearing black jeans, black shirt, black hoodie, which has some holes on it, maybe. His shoes have seen way better days. They're black and white. It looks like he's on his way to a Rancid concert. The only hint of colour on him is the scarf and the glitter on his jaw.

Shit.

"That's okay," he says almost too quietly. Truly, he doesn't mind them being flamboyant, as he puts it. He's proud of who he is, and he's happy they can be too. It makes him feel less lonely, and that's exactly what he wants, even if it scares him a little too. Mudah pulls the scarf closer to himself, adjusting it so it covers some of his chest, and then half of his face, too. His eyes flicker to Hugh.

No, he has no problem being with him. It's just that people overwhelm him sometimes. So he appreciates the warning, and he smiles at him behind the scarf.

"Um," and here he goes, though Hugh likely wants to go ahead and catch up with his squad, he skips a little closer to him, since he's taller and his stride makes it a little harder to keep up. He enjoyed talking to him on their date. This is only right, and polite too. "Who are they, though?"

\- - - - - - - -

Hugh doesn't mind that Mudah is asking questions. It's probably better that he does, before they actually catch up with everyone, because they're kind of...A lot. He wasn't exaggerating. Especially when they're drunk too. But it's been a good night so far, and by the looks of it, it's only going to get better.

Not a bad way to see in 1998, all in all.

"Okay, so. There's Sam, he's the guy with the rainbow flag cape thing. He likes to be called Sammy, and we go to NYU together. And then there's Gus, he has the rainbow stripe pants on. He likes to be called _Gustavo_ , but only by people he's sleeping with." He hopes Mudah never gets to call him that, which is really fucking selfish, isn't it? Oh well. "That's Cristian, without an 'h'." He points him out. "And next to him is Christian _with_ an 'h'. He goes by Chris, which makes things a lot easier than trying to figure out which one you're trying to talk to. And then next to _Chris_ , is Cristian's boyfriend Andrew. He's British. That's pretty much all you need to know about him. Other than Sammy, I know them through the club circuit."

And he loves them all. He knows them since his 20th birthday, and Sam told him that he knew some people who could get them into a club, which coincidentally was the night that he met RuPaul. They took him under their wing, and they've all stuck together ever since.

1992 was a great year, and 1998 has got a lot to live up to.

"I'll introduce you when we get there. Just tell them you like Shania Twain or Celine Dion, and you'll get on great with them." Whether or not Mudah actually likes them or not, it doesn't matter. They're too drunk to remember anything in the morning by this point.

\- - - - - - - -

It’s a lot to handle already, but he makes an effort to memorise their names. It would’ve been easier, he thinks, if he had been sober. As it is right now, it’s a wonder he hasn’t stumbled or tripped and made a fool of himself.

“I do like them.“ And he’ll tell them whatever Hugh thinks is best, since they’re his friends and he doesn’t want to alienate himself by opening his mouth and saying something stupid; unscripted. But to Hugh, he can talk freely– he feels like can, anyways. “B-but personally? I’m more of a Whitney guy. Destiny’s Child. NSYNC. Mariah...”

He shakes his head, as if waking himself up from a daydream. This is not the music he openly admits to liking.

And since he’s pretty emboldened, and before he can stop and think if this is a good idea, he says: “I should’ve worn my heels, maybe they’d like me more like that.” His hands are stuffed in his pockets, nevertheless he struts a little, as if he were on a catwalk. His shoulders are pushed back and hips move side to side –for a moment, a genuine air of confidence to his movements.

A couple of giggling children almost run into him, but he swerves out of their way just in time. The moment is gone, but he doesn’t mind. They probably spared him from further embarrassing himself.

“A-anyways. We should, uh. Probably catch up.”

\- - - - - - - -

"Oh shit, tell them that. They'd do anything for Whitney."

But he doesn't get long to process how much they're going to lose their shit about Mudah liking Whitney Houston, because suddenly he's bringing up heels and _strutting_ , and Hugh loses all brain function at that point. His mind straight up goes blank, like a hard drive being wiped, and it takes him a few moments to reboot again.

His eyes drift as Mudah gets slightly ahead of him, travelling over his body, taking in the way his legs look in those jeans, and how much better they'd look with a pair of heels adorning his feet.

Christ, he didn't realise that was what he was into, but Mudah looks _so_ self-confident about himself in that moment that he finds it incredibly fucking sexy, and he has to swallow heavily against a lump that rises in his throat.

He's a little bit ruined right now.

"Yeah, let's catch up," he says, when his brain has finally rebooted again, and he can make coherent sentences that aren't just going to be a babble of jumbled words. "We don't wanna miss the ball drop."

" _Hurry up, bitch!_ " comes another call from the group not too far ahead.

\- - - - - - - -

Mudah’s walked ahead during his stupid drunk strutting, so he waits for Hugh to catch up, and pulls the scarf closer to himself. He fidgets with the little strands of yarn on one of the ends of it, his eyes fixed on that and not the group ahead, certainly not Hugh because he’s probably laughing at him, or something.

When they _do_ catch up he can finally get a look at Hugh’s friends. study look nice. But this means that the crowd on the street is bigger; someone’s smoking the brand of cigarettes that he doesn’t like, another person bumps into him, a woman laughs too loudly nearby. He makes sure to drift closer to Hugh. The guy’s tall, it’ll be like having a wall to protect him from incoming damage, or something.

They’re standing so close that when Mudah lifts his gaze from the dirty sidewalk, he sees colourful lights bouncing on his face, on his eyes, and he’s a little fucking taken aback, really.

Someone asks his name, and he stammers and rubs at his eyes before he replies. “Mudah. You guys like Whitney?”

\- - - - - - - -

He can feel Mudah drifting closer, and it's tempting to slip an arm around his shoulders, to let him know that he's there and that he's going to look out for him tonight. That because he's brought him to this group, he's not going to let him get overwhelmed by it all. Which is a bit weird, because he barely _knows_ him, but he knows what his friends can be like.

Mudah mentioning Whitney seems to go over well though, because Sam claps his hands together loudly. "Oh, we _like_ him. He can stay."

And Hugh, even though he had decided to invite Mudah with them on a whim, feels a little smug that they like him.

He invited him, not on a chance that something might happen because he didn't invite him for an expectation. But maybe because he might get to spend a little more time with him, because something might blossom between them, because he definitely regrets not calling him. He regrets being too busy, even though it had been out of his control, to go on another date with him.

"You want some vodka?" Sam holds a hip flask out to him, almost like this is some kind of initiation ritual. Like drinking the vodka is going to fully invite him into the group.

\- - - - - - - -

It’s not that he needs their approval. But he feels a little easier knowing he’s not going to be a complete burden on them, and that he can be at Hugh’s side without them casting sideway glances, whispering to each other. Not that he wouldn’t stay if they hadn’t. Maybe. He’s made it so far, and they’ve been walking the opposite direction to Richie’s apartment for the past two blocks anyway.

And he enjoyed spending time with Hugh on their first date. He’d been hurt that he hadn’t called back, until he realised he could’ve called too, and that for him absolutely nowhere. He’ll always feel silly for that.

He’s spacing out again. Sam’s voice snaps him out of it, and he grabs the flask before he can actually understand what he asked and what _he_ is doing. Is it too late to return it? But no, their eyes are on him and he could use the extra drink, since the ones he had at Miss Porter’s bar are already wearing off. “Sure, man. Thanks.”

He drinks from it, tilts his head back, and suddenly there’s half of the vodka left on the flask.

He sniffles and hands it back, his cheeks warm; actually his whole body feels warmer, and this _was_ a good idea. Like a battery that has been recharged, or something, he perks up and glances up at the night sky. “Long day. What can I say.”

\- - - - - - - -

Hugh laughs softly, because Sam is just kind of staring at Mudah right now, and it takes him a little too long to take the flask back from him. This was a _great_ idea, because it's hard to shut Sam up, and Mudah succeeded in one action.

Eventually, they stop walking, because they've gotten as far as they can before the crowds are packed in too tightly for anyone to move. Hugh and Andrew, as the tallest of the group - although all of them have at least a couple of inches on Mudah - frame him from either side so that he doesn't get crushed by bodies.

They're close enough that they can _just_ see the glitter ball, lights dancing across it and illuminating the buildings either side of it. It's beautiful, and Hugh wonders why he's never done a ball drop before. The amount of people here doesn't help, that's for sure, but it's been a pretty good night.

He might do it again next year, maybe he'll invite Mudah again.

From where he's standing, Chris can see that the counter has started counting down from sixty seconds, and he gets everyone else's attention - "Less than a minute!" - and Hugh feels energised. He doesn't know what 1998 is going to hold for him, but he knows he's going to start the year out right.

\- - - - - - - -

Crowds are terrible because of the people, but every time he finds himself in one he is suddenly reminded of how fucking short he is compared to everyone else. And Mudah is not _that_ small, he has cousins that are twenty years older than him and he has to bend down to talk to them. But Americans -Americans are really big. Like Hugh.

He's very grateful that Hugh can't read minds, because suddenly Mudah finds himself blushing behind the scarf. Whatever.

He sees the ball about to drop. He doesn't think he's ever been close to it. New Years was a family night, and it's been a year or so since he moved out, so it wasn't like he bothered to go to a massive event on his own. It just wasn't fun. This year was rough on him. Next one, who knows. It's probably the vibes around, but Mudah, with vodka and cheap liquor in his belly and glitter on his face and two large men at his side, feels _just_ a little hopeful about the future.

He uncovers his face, because it's getting a little hot with so many people around, licks his lips, tilts his head back and looks at the sky. It's stupid, but he figures. He can make a wish, right?

He just wants the next year to be _good_.

\- - - - - - - -

Here it goes, final ten seconds, and Hugh makes a decision.

" _10, 9, 8..._ "

1998 is going to be his year, he's decided. He's going to graduate from law school, he's going to get a job that he's going to find fulfilling and he can leave corporate law in his rear view mirror forever. He hates studying it, and he doesn't want anything to do with it ever again.

" _...7, 6, 5, 4..._ "

He's going to find love. Maybe he's already met the person he'll fall in love with. His eyes drift over to Mudah, who looks stunning illuminated by the lights all around them. His head tilted back slightly, eyes bright and reflecting the brightness that shines down on them. Lips slightly pursed, he watches the stars, and Hugh doesn't think he's ever seen someone look so beautiful in his entire life.

He makes a decision.

" _...3, 2, 1, happy new year!_ "

He kisses him.

Happy New Year.

\- - - - - - - -

Hugh kisses him, and Mudah doesn't pull back. He doesn't push him away. Why would he do any of that? Why would he do anything that isn't parting his lips and lifting a hand to cup his cheek? So he does _just_ that, while the crowds around them erupt in glee and celebration. The air around them is electrifying. Not just with optimism. With something _else_ entirely.

He had no idea wishes came true that quick. He must be really lucky.

There's only the two of them; in a sea of confetti and noises and embraces like their own, he doesn't think he's ever been kissed like this. That everything else could so easily become background noise and that every worry to ever grace his mind had vanished so quickly. He pulls back to look at him, strikingly gorgeous in the lights of the New York celebrations.

And then he kisses him again. A peck on the lips -he can't do anything more because he can't stop _smiling_ against the kiss. "Happy New Year, Hugh."

\- - - - - - - -

Something in him changes then.

The kiss warms him from the inside out, and they could be standing in a desert right about now, not in the middle of New York City on a freezing cold night. They could be alone, because it feels like they're in a vacuum, like no-one else in the world exists, that it's just the two of them.

"Happy New Year," he manages to say back finally, when his brain has caught up with him. Being this close to him, he can see the very faint dusting of freckles that he has dotted about on his face.

He kisses him again then because he can't help himself, settling both of his hands on either side of Mudah's neck as he leans in to kiss him a little more deeply this time, without a care as to what anyone around them thinks right now. Andrew and Cristian are still kissing anyway, and Sam, Gus, and Chris are all doing that weird Auld Lang Syne handshake thing.

1998 is already off to an incredible start.

\- - - - - - - -

Someone throws glitter over them while they kiss again, once he's leaned in closer and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. It makes Mudah wrinkle his nose, and he swears he inhales some of it but he doesn't sneeze; Allah is good for the little blessings. He doesn't know what he would've done if he had sneezed on him.

His nose and cheeks are red. Whether it's because of the alcohol or the cold, he can't tell. He looks... _cute_.

First seconds of 1998 aren't bad at all. It makes him wonder if they'll be like this again, but it's too soon to tell, he prefers to bask in this moment, right now right here. And then Mudah laughs. He has to shout over the noise, but the message is the same, so he supposes it doesn't matter how he says it. "D-do you want to, ah. Go on a second date?"

\- - - - - - - -

Mudah asks before he can, and it had been on the tip of his tongue too. He doesn't think that he could happily leave here tonight without the confirmation that they were going to see each other again. What he'd aimed to be a celebratory midnight kiss had turned into something completely different, and he's absolutely fine with that.

"Yeah. Please." He shouts back at him, and the temptation to kiss him is so strong again, but he holds off for now. He still has some things that he needs to say. "I'll call you. I still have your number." And he does. It's on a slip of paper that he has tucked into a yellow legal pad in his apartment, with a little note underneath it that says 'DO NOT LOSE!!!!', so he did mean to call, it just hasn't been the right time.

\- - - - - - - -

“Oh shit, you do?” At this rate they’re both going to end up fucking up their throats so bad; Mudah isn’t used to being this loud, it’s odd, and new, but he’s talking to someone that’s worth it so what gives.

He still remembers how nervous he was. How he’d written down the number with shaking hands, and as soon as he’d dropped it on his table he’d snuck outside to grab a smoke. Donovan followed him outside. Told him to quit doing that, it was bad for his lungs, and dragged him inside.

It was probably for the best, because he got to see Hugh one last time before he left the bar.

So maybe he’s a little surprised. Pleasantly. Mudah nods, unsure of what the night still holds for them. But he’s happier now. Without a doubt. He’s going on a second date with the most handsome, charming, and intelligent man he’s ever met and seen in his life. Imagine that.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been six months since they officially started dating. Six months of absolute bliss, and he's so incredibly in love that he doesn't he could ever love anyone else ever again. Which is why he made a choice, a choice that even though they've only been dating for six months, is going to absolutely define their relationship for the rest of their lives.

It starts by visiting Mudah's family, so that he can not only ask for permission, but to make sure that they're going to be onboard with it. To make sure that they know what's going on, so that they can deflect any questions that may come their way. He doesn't visit his own parents, doesn't bother to tell them what he's going to do, but he calls all three of his brothers and lets them know. They offer him advice, most of it terrible, but they're doing it on purpose to stop him freaking out a little, to make him laugh down the phone and relax a little. It works, and he feels even better about this than he had done when he'd first starting planning.

The day of, he suggests to Mudah that they do some touristy things around New York. Sure, they've both lived and worked here for their entire lives, but they never really take the opportunity to do any of those things.

First on the agenda is a walk around Central Park. They grab a coffee and a pastry from Le Pain Quotidien, and walk across one of the many beautiful bridges in the park. This would be a perfect opportunity to do it, but it's not where he wants it to happen. Somewhere else then. They leave Central Park, and walk past the Pulitzer Fountain, stopping to throw a coin in and make a wish, before they continue walking.

Their walk takes them down 5th Avenue, past the Tiffany & Co store, and the box that settles in the inside pocket of Hugh's jacket feels suddenly very heavy. It's not Tiffany, but it's not inexpensive either. He'd wanted something meaningful, something that they could look at years from now and remember the fond memories of today.

The next big landmark they pass is the New York Public Library, and they stop and sit on the steps for a little while and just talk. Someone passing by takes their picture with a Polaroid camera and hands it to them - "You guys looked _so_ in love, I just had to take it." - and Hugh steals a quick kiss from his love, because he _can_ , because New York City is fucking incredible and the kindness of strangers always makes his heart warm.

Their next stop is the Empire State Building, and Hugh suggests they take a trip up to the main deck, and look out over the city. All the years that he's lived here, and he's never actually done that. It's just something that he takes for granted, that he could probably go up there and take a look any time that he wanted, but he just never has.

When they get to the top deck, Hugh knows that this is where it has to happen. The view that they have of the city, of their home, is astounding, breathtaking, and the sight of the man standing next to him is even more so. He'd always hoped that he'd find a love like this, that he'd find someone that he'd want to share the rest of his life with, but he never realised it would be Mudah. When they'd first met in that bar, when they'd had that first date, even when they'd met again on New Year's Eve, he'd never expected that Mudah would be the man he would devote his everything too.

But God, is he glad that he is.

He reaches into his pocket, and palms the box that rests there - against his heart, funnily enough - holding it in his hand for a few moments, as he takes a breath. He doesn't think he's ever been more sure of anything in his life, he _knows_ that this is what he wants to do, and that he has no doubt in his mind about that.

He turns to face Mudah, who's not looking at him right now but is instead looking at the view, the lights of the city reflected in his eyes, like stars in the night sky, shining so brightly and so brilliantly, that Hugh almost loses the ability to breathe. But he swallows heavily, and goes for it, because there's no better time than now, and nothing that he wants to do more.

"Hey," he says quietly, to get Mudah's attention. His thumb and forefinger lightly take hold of Mudah's chin so that he can turn his head a little, enough so that he can press a soft kiss against his lips. "I love you." And then he pulls back a little, enough that he can bring the box up and lift the lid to reveal a stunning gold band that has a single Egyptian lapis lazuli embedded right at the forefront. It had cost him two months worth of his salary, but it had been worth it.

Mudah is worth it.

"Marry me?"

\- - - - - - - -

It’s funny that he hasn’t done any of this tourist thing, in his entire life. He loves this city. It’s his home, he knows its streets and it’s landmarks and its people like he knows the palm of his hand. And yet he hadn’t even thought about doing this because he didn’t think it would be nice doing it on his own; the long queues of people already deterring him from approaching these places in the first place. He has Hugh now.

And every day, for the past six months, has been amazing. Mudah wakes up and feels so full of energy and happiness and excitement, it doesn’t feel real most times. But it is. He’s been lucky enough -blessed, as his mother would say- to be with him.

So it’s wonderful. Central Park is green and full of life this time of the year. The air is warm, but not unpleasantly so. When someone takes their picture, he wishes he could’ve taken it, because he would’ve done a better job frankly, but the picture is so _good_ and they both look so enamoured with each other. He wants to keep that picture with him at all times. Though, why should he, when he has the real thing right beside him.

And eventually they’re on the Empire State, where his breath is taken away by the view of their home, their lives, an ocean of twinkling lights and pulsating with life so close and so far away. He’s so enraptured by the sight that he blinks when he feels fingers on his chin, and the words _I love you too_ are about to leave his lips–

Mudah’s eyes widen, and he brings a hand to his mouth to cover the sharp intake of breath that’s replaced words of adoration.

It’s a ring.

He’s proposing.

The only reason why it takes him to reply so long is because he keeps looking between the ring (did he buy that for him he shouldn’t have he could’ve saved it for something else but _Allahu Akbar_ it’s the most beautiful ring he’s ever seen) and at Hugh. City lights bring out the sharp angles of his cheekbones and his jaw. His eyes are twinkling, like the stars above their heads. Mudah bites his lip, and overcome with love, he meets his eyes.

“Yes.”

He will marry him. He doesn’t think twice when he answers. He wants to spend his life with him– he wants to make him as happy as he’s made him. And laughter bubbles up his throat, and he nods and says again: “ _yes_ ”, yes, absolutely yes.

\- - - - - - - -

The few moments that Mudah is silent are absolute agony. He's not a nervous person, not by any stretch, but he thinks this might be the most nervous he's ever been. He hasn't even considered the fact that Mudah might not feel as strongly as he does, that he might not want to get married, that he's not _ready_ yet. He'd just kind of taken it for granted that Mudah had felt the same way, and that he'd instantly say 'yes'.

But he _does_ say yes, finally, and Hugh can breathe again. He finds himself laughing softly too, as he leans down to kiss him deeply, lovingly.

There's a smattering of applause around them, and someone wolf-whistles, but a woman not too far away covers her child's eyes and moves him away. Not that Hugh cares at all, the fucking homophobe, because he's so goddamn _happy_. They could be surrounded by people sneering at them, and calling them every name under the sun, and he wouldn't give a damn.

He pulls back from the kiss, and fumbles a little with the ring box, before he manages to pull the ring out, take Mudah's hand and carefully slide it onto his ring finger. It looks perfect, like it was always meant to be there, or so he thinks anyway. He's sure there'll come a time where he'll look back and not be able to remember Mudah _not_ wearing it.

"So, uh...Your family kind of all already knows." He looks a little sheepish, because he's not sure if Mudah would have wanted to tell him himself, but it didn't feel right just proposing without at least giving them a heads up. "And your Mom told me to tell you that we have to go straight there so she can see the ring, and that we have to stay for dinner."

\- - - - - - - -

Mudah kisses him back, unaware of those around them, though the applause makes him laugh again, because their love deserves to be cheered for; their happiness is pure and warm and he doesn't think he's ever been this happy before. This is what people mean when they say they are in paradise. This is perfect. Hugh is perfect.

He splays his fingers. The ring glints, and already he knows he will _never_ , ever, take it off. When his skin wrinkles, the ring and their adoration will remain as beautiful as it is now.

"Oh," he snorts and covers his mouth, and then he lightly touches Hugh's cheek. "Of course you thought ahead. Did she cry? I know she did," and if she hadn't, surely those tears would flow like the Nile when she sees his ring. And who knew what his father would say, something embarrassing for him, surely, but he's looking forward to it. "Let's go, then." And he jumps on his spot and hugs him and closes his eyes, but then he takes his hand and starts leading him away.

\- - - - - - - -

So many things are happening at once.

Mudah is asking him about his mother, and then he's hugging him, and then he's pulling him away from the edge of the viewing deck and inside. He almost feels like he's floating, like his feet aren't even touching the ground, and he's absolutely _fine_ with that. There's nothing that can bring him down right now, and he wouldn't want it to.


End file.
